


Lessons on how to be Worthwhile

by pensversusswords



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve, Romance, Steve Feels, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony and his Bots - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Steve thinks Tony is amazing, and Tony thinks Steve is amazing, but Tony doesn't think Tony is amazing. </p><p>Or, Tony has issues with self worth, and Steve wants to fix that.</p><p>[currently in the process of being edited and revamped]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Worth More

**Author's Note:**

> Two part fic because if I don't finish something I'm going to go insane.  
> Thanks for reading !
> 
> [My tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/), where I take prompts and all the fun stuff happens.

The first time Tony hears it, he's four years old.

He totters into his father's shop, tiny fingers of one hand reaching up to push the door open, while the other clutches something precious against his chest. The scent of cigar smoke and scotch burns his lungs when he walked in, and hovers in faint clouds above every surface.

Tony learns when he is older that scent is the sense most in touch with the neural pathways of memory, and he realizes that that's why he always associated that smell with his father.

His socked feet pad across the floor to the lone figure who sat hunched over a desk in a corner of the room, hands in a flurry of activity, scribbling things down with the faint  _scratch-scratch_  of pen on paper. A low muttering comes from this man's lips and joins this bare symphony; mutterings of engineering and physics, things that would change the world.

Howard Stark was intent on his work, on his mission to change the world. So much so, in fact, that when his son placed a contraption of wire and hours upon hours of effort, he doesn't even feel the need to look up. A circuit board; crudely made, but a circuit board nonetheless, made with the hands of a four year old child.

"I finish'd it Daddy," he beamed. "You tol' me to wait for you, but I learn'd how t'do it myself an-"

"That’s very good, Tony" Howard replied, not even looking up to glance at his dark haired child. He misses the flicker of pride in the four year old's eyes, he misses the wide smile that is so exuberant that it could put stars in the sky. He misses the pure, childlike happiness that seeks for approval, for acclaim from someone they love and look up to. In that split instant when he didn't look up, when something else was more important, he missed it completely, because that's the last time that expression is so vibrant on his face.

Because that’s the first time Tony hears it; not in the actual words his father says, but in the easy dismissal of his tone. The disinterest that lies there, the silent scream that tells the little boy  _you're not worth my time,_ chips away at whatever it is that is a semblance of pride in Tony. He  _hears_  it, and that first time he doesn't fully understand it, but it plants a seed in him. It is a dark, ugly abyss that tells him  _not good enough, not good enough,_ with every breath, with every step.

Howard Stark never sees that joyful expression, because after that moment, little by little, it begins to fade away.

Tony hears it again at various intervals in his life, and eventually the sting starts to subside. It becomes less poignant; or, at least, he gets better at ignoring the sharp pain of being rejected and neglected time and time again.

He hears it in his teacher's voice in the third grade, when he pushes a boy flat on his ass for calling Tony a nerd and telling him not to bother trying to play with them because they didn't need a smarty pants like him around. The teacher takes him by the elbow when the boy ends up on the ground crying after a short lived tussle, and leans down to tell Tony why it's not nice to push people. All the while, Tony is silent, but bristling under his skin with some kind of scorching flame. He wants to yell at this woman, tell her to leave him alone, but he doesn't want her to know how upset he is. So he gives a childish sneer and tells her that if the boy had known he was such a weakling, he shouldn't have started a fight with him.

He hears it again in the eighth grade, when he almost blows up the classroom during a presentation for science class. It's his first real attempt at a robot; a shiny combination of metal parts and haphazard wires. He's so proud of it, so determined to make it work this time.

He's almost surprised when it doesn't.

The fire department is called and he's reprimanded by the firefighter, his teacher, the principal, his father; but this time he hears it in his classmate's laughs. They snicker behind their hands, whisper and point and Tony feels crushed for an instant as he feels their eyes on him, tearing him apart and spilling him on the ground. He may be a rich kid, he may have a famous father, but he's also stunningly smart and so much younger than them and he's got a big mouth. They laugh and no one feels guilty. Envy is green and bitter and leaves an acrid taste in their mouths.

By the time he's seventeen, a recent graduate of MIT, he finally finishes his robot. An AI he fondly names Dummy, and there is this blossoming light that rises in his chest when he tells the bot to pass him his mug of coffee and he actually  _does_  it. Granted, he spills it a bit on his jeans, but he did it. Dummy did it, and Tony did it.

That light was snuffed out in an instant when he realized he wanted to run and tell someone about it, to gush and explode with the excitement of actually succeeding, and he realizes that there is absolutely no one he wants to share this information with.

So he plays with Dummy for a while, showers, grabs a bottle of scotch from his father's office and leaves. He reaches for his phone, dials the number of the first name he sees and asks if they want to get wasted and paint the town red, and of course they say yes, because he's Tony Stark. He goes to a party, drinks more than half the bottle, and passes out in a bed that isn't his own, next to a girl who couldn't care less if he was still there in the morning. When he wakes up, that empty ache is still gaping in his chest, and he wants to fill it with something. Anything. He reaches out blindly, panting and stifling back tears, but there's nothing. No consolation, no way to assuage the wretchedness.

He goes home hung over and smelling like an alcoholic. His father is sitting at the kitchen table when he strolls in and as casually as he can possibly manage, Tony pretends he doesn't see him. Howard does the same, as Tony gets his coffee. He takes it black, as bitter as he's feeling right now.

Howard speaks when Tony's walking away, mug in hand, to hide under a cocoon of blankets in the dark; hide away from the ache and the throbbing pain in his head. It strikes his sleep deprived mind like a poison tipped arrow when Howard says in a low voice, "you're a disgrace, boy," and he can feel himself flinch visibly. He curses himself, wants to kick his own shins for showing weakness.

Howard Stark and Maria Stark die in a tragic car crash not long after that, and that's when Tony stops keeping track of when he hears it. Howard had let him hear it one last time; a parting gift worthy of the billionaire, weapons manufacturer's son.  

As years pass, he became numb to it. He was able to pretend that the twinge of self loathing he felt in his gut wasn't there. He buried it under a thick shroud of charisma and money and just basically being a egotistical, sarcastic genius. He smiled, told crude jokes and unleashed his promiscuity on the world. For a long time, it worked.

Until it didn't.

 

* * *

 

"Tony?" Steve asked, his voice tentative and slightly confused.

"Mmph?" Tony responded eloquently around the wrench that he had jammed in his mouth, while his hands were otherwise occupied with a handful of wires.

"Are you, uh, aware that one of your robots just poured what looks like motor oil into the coffee he just made for you?"

Tony made a garbled noise and took the wrench out of his mouth. He turned on his heels and looked up at Steve behind him from where he crouched at ground level. "Yeah, he does that. Rule number one of the shop; don't ever drink or eat anything that Dummy makes for you without checking with me first, at the risk of having to get your stomach pumped."

The bot in question was rolling over to them, mug clamped in his metal claw, which he set down graciously at his feet.

"Thanks Dummy, but I've told you a million times that humans can't drink motor oil and you're going to kill me one of these days if you keep forgetting that."

Steve marvelled at the way that the bot seemed to wilt at his words, looking as absolutely forlorn as a robot could.

"Did you hurt his feelings? Why did you call him a dummy?" Steve's voice was tinted with a bit of pity for the bot, who seemed to have some understanding of emotions, and a bit of complete  awe that Tony was capable of creating this.

"Dummy. It's his name. He earned it because he's even more forgetful than I am, which is partially my fault because I made him when I was a drunk teenager," Tony straightened up, knees cracking, and narrowed his eyes at Dummy when he whirred unhappily. "Dummy, you tried to feed me  _motor oil,_ I'm not a machine. Sometimes I think you're trying to kill me, and don't give me that kicked puppy attitude."

Dummy slunk away, whirring sadly, and yes, to Steve absolute surprise, the bot actually did sound  _sad._

"So he actually has feelings?" Steve asked, staring with what he assumed was a wide eyed, cartoonish expression after the dejected bot.

"Hm? Oh, in a way, I suppose. Yeah. He's an AI, an artificial intelligence, like JARVIS but with a corporeal form. He's also the biggest idiot in this workshop." He said that last part with a pointed glare at the bot who was clearly hiding in the corner. "Yes, I'm talking about you Dummy. Motor oil,  _God._ I wish I could say it was the first time."

The bot beeped at him, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Whatever Dummy. Learn how to make non-toxic coffee, then I won't be so mean."

He'd seemed to have forgotten that Steve was in the room, until he heard the supersoldier smothering a laugh behind his hand. Steve didn't even bother trying to hide his chuckling; it was just so beyond amusing watching Tony Stark bickering with a robot that was basically just a metal arm.

"What?" Tony demanded, glaring at him without any heat at all, one corner of his mouth quirked up in amused curiosity.

"Nothing." Steve waved a hand at the bot who was still in the corner. "You're just… you're arguing with a robot who can't even speak."

"Yeah. Well, he ought to know better," he grumbled, wiping his hands on a rag.

Then he frowned. "Wait a second, how did you even get in here?"

Steve flushed and crossed his arms over his chest. It'd taken Tony long enough to notice that he was in his shop uninvited. "Well, Pepper's in DC for a few days and you haven't been answering her calls so she was worried. She asked me to come check on you."

"But, how-"

"She got JARVIS to let me in," Steve admitted. He and Tony weren't exactly close, the tension that had hung between them when they met had long ago faded, yes, but they were still in a strange grey area that could be called 'tentative friends'. Pepper had asked him because she'd thought he would be the most useful in this situation, whatever that meant. Steve hadn't bothered arguing. He'd kind of accepted the first time that he met her that Pepper knew best.

"Traitor!" Tony shouted at the ceiling, which would have been strange, but then just as the AI responded in his dulcet voice, Steve remembered his existence.

"My apologies, Sir," JARVIS said, not sounding sorry at all, "but given the parameters of Miss Potts' access to your shop, she was authorized to make that decision."

"Can't trust anyone," he sighed, and turned back to Steve with a dejected expression. "So, what did she tell you to do? Force feed me? Drag me out by my feet, toss me over your shoulder and barricade me in my room until I sleep?"

"Actually, she asked me to bring you down food." Steve pointed to a sandwich he had set down on the only surface in the room that wasn't cluttered with miscellaneous objects. "She said getting you to sleep would be too hard for a rookie, so food would have to do."

"Ah, okay. Thanks. And it's too bad, it might've been fun to see that super strength of yours in action," Tony winked, before sauntering over to grab the sandwich and take an enormous bite.

Steve didn't respond to that, he just rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring the faint heat that spread through his body when Tony winked at him like that. He was a notorious flirt, Steve knew that, so he wouldn't allow himself a reaction to his charm. Especially since he flirted with Steve, and almost everyone with a pulse actually, more or less about as much as he breathed. He was positive it was just playful and nothing more.

Instead of letting himself think of that, he strolled over to Dummy, who was pouring out the mug of spoiled coffee. He wasn't sure how, but he was pretty sure he saw clumps of something inedible coming out along with the coffee as it went down the drain. Steve wasn't really an avid coffee drinker, but he was positive it wasn't supposed to be clumpy.

"Hey Dummy." He stopped beside him, took a fresh mug down from the cupboard. "Want me to show you how to make a cup of coffee even Tony won't be able to complain about?"

The bot whirred, and Steve laughed. He took it as a yes.

"Okay, first things first. No motor oil, ever," he said firmly. "Only use things you find over here in the cupboard or the fridge, got it?"

Dummy moved his robotic arm up and down, which Steve assumed was meant to be him nodding. "Okay, good. Now first," he reached out and pulled the metallic, rather futuristic looking coffee maker closer to them for easier access, "you're going to need a coffee filter."

Steve opened the nearest cupboard and rooted around until he found them. "Here they are. Okay, so first, you're going to have to put it up here in the top, like this." Steve demonstrated, and then took it out, and offered the thin paper filter to the bot. "Now you try."

Very gingerly, Dummy took it from him and placed it inside carefully. Steve broke into a grin.

"Great. Now, fill it with water, up to this line. Then I want you to get a spoon and put a scoop of the coffee grounds in the filter."

Dummy obliged, beeping and whirring happily with what only could be described as childlike excitement, while Steve pointed and directed, encouraging him the whole time.

Once the production was completed, and the coffee maker was on and gurgling away, Steve turned to the enthusiastic bot with a grin. "You did great Dummy. Now, when that little light turns green, you can pour it and bring it over to Tony, okay?"

The bot did the nodding thing again. Steve, still smiling at him kindly, raised one hand. "Can you give me a high five?"

The bot shrank back a bit, and Steve's smile faltered until he realized that he'd probably just confused him.

"You do it when someone does something well, and you want to tell them they did a good job," Steve explained, "Just hold up your hand and I'll show you."

Dummy did as he was told, and Steve lightly bumped the palm of his hand against his cool metal one. "Great job, Dummy," he beamed.  The bot started making an erratic beeping noise, and started wiggling around a bit. Steve was pretty sure it was excitement.

Still grinning widely, laughing at the robot that was practically an overgrown child, yet still a product of advanced AI technology, and turned back to Tony.

"Next time, I'll teach him the fist bump," he laughed, mostly because he wanted to show off the advances he'd made in modern society, but stopped short when he saw Tony's face.

Tony was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white, his half eaten sandwich cast aside and forgotten. His eyes were open wide, comically so, and his lips were parted slightly in what appeared to be complete shock.

"Tony?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "What's wrong?"

He stepped forward, worry creasing his brow, and Tony seemed to shake himself free of some trance.

"Uh, nothing," he gulped, took a breath in and seemed to be trying to collect himself. He was stiff, his eyes intent on his clenched hands until they relaxed slightly, and he picked up the sandwich again. "Great sandwich, Capsicle, you looking for a job? You could totally be my personal chef, I bet you're a wizard in the kitchen, 'cause this sandwich is magical. Maybe it's because I'm used to the world's worst sandwiches, no offence Dummy, I know you try your best. Hey, maybe you could teach him, since you seem to be getting along so we-"

"Tony," Steve interrupted, and now he was standing in front of him, hovering over him. "Are you okay?"

Tony gulped again, and Steve thought it might have to do with their proximity, but after a moment he gave him his million dollar smile. "I'm fine Cap. Great actually. Uh, thanks for the sandwich, but I really need to get back to work…"

"Say no more," Steve said gently. He could tell Tony was faking, that there was something wrong, but it wasn't his job to push. If he wasn’t comfortable telling him what was wrong, he wasn't going to force him. "You should probably finish the sandwich though, since I doubt you're going to leave and get food any time soon."

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that. Thanks again, really." Tony bit his lip, seemed to be about to say something else but then changed his mind. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and stayed silent.   

"Great," Steve said smoothly, and placed a warm hand on Tony's shoulder and squeezed. "You really should get some rest though. Consider it, at least?"

Tony seemed to have that shocked, confused expression on his face then. This time it was milder, and he just looked a little bit dazed, but Steve could see it brimming in his eyes, in the slackness of his jaw.

"Yeah," he finally breathed, and Steve realized his hand was still on his shoulder. He drew away then, hoping that it didn't come off as too intimate, too lingering, too tender. He flushed slightly, and backed towards the door with an easy smile on his lips. "See you later?" he asked, tampering down any semblance of hope that might've crept into his voice.

Tony smiled, and nodded and Steve ignored the rush of happiness that ran through him. "Okay. Bye Dummy!" he called to the bot, who was still faithfully watching the coffee maker. He beeped a farewell, and Steve laughed, gave Tony one last parting wave, and left.

Less than an hour later, he was more than a little bit satisfied when JARVIS told him that Tony had just crawled into bed and fallen fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

"A team,  _what?_ "

"A team dinner," Steve announced for the second time, looking so freaking happy Tony thought he might combust at any moment. "I asked the others, and they all thought it was a great idea. We all voted on Thai food, is that okay with you?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean-" Tony broke off and ran a hand over his face. "I mean, a family dinner?  Really? Is that necessary?"

A flicker of hurt flashed across Steve's face and Tony was surprised that he wanted to kick himself. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Tony waved a hand at him and continued talking. "It's not a bad idea, I'm just… surprised."

Surprised was an understatement. He felt kind of woozy. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever actually sat down for a family dinner, especially not one that implied the kind of uncontained excitement that Steve was throwing off right now. Communal dinners of his childhood had always been obligatory, when they happened, and often very tense.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to." Steve was looking at him with a curious expression, his head tilted slightly to the side. "I just thought it might be nice."

Tony observed him for a moment, taking in the hopeful expression on his face, the swoop of blonde hair that fell across his forehead, the crisp shirt that stretched taught over his broad shoulders. Fuck, he was completely irresistible without even trying.

Finally he gave a resigned sigh and shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Thai food sounds great."

 

* * *

 

And that's how he ended up here, wedged in between Natasha and Bruce, watching while the Norse god of thunder and the master marksman, spy, assassin readied themselves for a good ol' fashioned eating contest.

"My bet's on Thor," Natasha was saying, earning a dismayed look from Clint.

"You're joking! Have some faith in me Natasha, come on."

"He's not even human," Natasha pointed out.

"I'm on your side Clint," Bruce piped up from Tony's other side. "Thor drank a gallon of water than night we had fajitas, there's no way he's going to down that entire bowl of curry without sobbing into it."

"I take offence to that, Banner," Thor frowned, looking honestly quite offended.

"You literally cried after your first bite," Clint scoffed, "and only finished the rest because you declared that 'no Midgardian food will best the son of Odin.'"

"I'm with Thor too, but mainly because I just like pissing Clint off."

"Well fuck you, Tony."

Tony grinned in that infuriating way that he saved just for Clint, and turned to Steve. "How about you, Cap? Who are you going for?"

"I'm going with Clint." Thor made a noise of dismay, and Steve gave him an apologetic shrug. "Sorry Thor, but the fajita incident was pretty unforgettable."

"I will never live it down," he announced regretfully.

"Probably not, you looked like you swallowed wasabi. Alright enough talk, let's get on with it," Clint said, rolling up his sleeves for effect. "Ready Thor?"

"Ready."

"Go."

Clint won. Thor cried. While shovelling mounds of curry into his mouth. It was a gross, hysterical image that was going to stick with Tony for the rest of his life.

After that, everyone cleared out and left, both Thor and Clint still gagging and groaning from their burning mouths and churning stomachs. They filed out, Natasha supporting Clint and Bruce supporting Thor, after complimenting Steve on his cooking and sticking Tony with the cleanup since he'd been ten minutes late for the dinner. Steve offered to help, because that's just the kind of thing Steve did, and Tony was grateful for the help. And the company.

"I'll wash and you dry?" Steve asked, and tossed Tony a dishcloth when he nodded. He plunged his hands into the warm, soapy water, and Tony sidled up alongside him and for a while they worked together in amiable silence.

It was Steve who broke the silence, speaking in a low voice as he passed Tony a sopping wet plate.

"Thank you, Tony."

He started drying the plate and raised an eyebrow at him. "For what, cleaning? In case you didn't notice, it wasn't exactly my choice," he snorted.

"No, not that," Steve shook his head, and his expression went kind of soft. "For coming to dinner."

"Oh, that. It's no big deal, you're a good cook. And seeing Clint looking like he's about to hurl wasn't a bad bonus."

"He did look pretty sick," Steve grimaced.

"Yes and it was hysterical. He's probably laying up in his bed right now, groaning in agony while Natasha pets his hair, even though she knows he's playing it up."

Steve seemed consider this mental image for a moment, before nodding. "You're probably right," he agreed, amused. "But seriously, thank you. I know that there were probably a lot of other things that you could've been doing on a Saturday night, but you stuck around with us."

Tony knew what he meant, that he could've been out partying and consuming mass amounts of liquor, surrounded by gorgeous women. The truth was, that he could've done that, but he wouldn't have. He probably would've spent the evening with Dummy in the shop, working until he collapsed on the workbench.

"You would've had just as much fun without me," he said, and immediately hated the dryness of his throat.

"What?" Steve stopped washing for a moment to frown at him. "No, it wouldn't have been the same without you. I - we all  _wanted_ you there. It really was nice."

Tony's breath caught in his throat, and his heart panged a little bit. Steve's voice was so honest, so thoroughly sincere that he actually almost believed him; that his presence had been valued and even desired. That'd they'd enjoyed his company as much as he had enjoyed theirs.

He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to "family dinners," to carefree banter free of expectations, to the warm, comforting feeling he got from just sitting around the table with a bunch of idiots who were supposed to be earth's mightiest heroes.

For a moment, he felt himself falter, and he felt like he did that day when Steve came down to the lab, all earnest and concerned. When he'd started talking to Dummy, started staring at him like he was an absolute marvel with complete wonder in his eyes, Tony had felt this warmth curling in his core. Something hot and calming fluttered there, and it only got worse the longer Steve talked to his bot. He'd actually paid attention to it, initiated contact with it, treated it like it was worthy of his time.

Like something  _Tony_  had made was worthy of his time.

He was getting that feeling again, looking into Steve's baby blues, as he told him that he had been wanted at a "family dinner."

Tony didn't know what to do with that feeling.

So he just shrugged, forced a smile and reached for another dish. "You're welcome," he murmured and the words stuck in his throat. He hoped Steve didn't notice.

When they finished, Steve tells him he's going for a run, and he brushes his fingertips against Tony's shoulder and smiles that smile that could probably heal the sick and wounded. As Tony watches him walk away, he feels something hard and heavy settle in his stomach, something that should've felt sharp and invasive, but instead felt like a good kind of ache.

In that moment, he felt a sharp thorn dislodge itself from his belly, and wiggle free.

 

* * *

 

"Tony?" Steve could tell that his voice startled Tony a bit, who was hunched over his desk with an expression that was practically steaming with intensity.

"Yeah?" he said, clearly distracted, and only half listening, but Steve didn't mind. He was used to it by now.

In the following weeks after the first family dinner, a lot of things had shifted in the dynamic of the group.

Much to Steve's delight, family dinners became a regular thing (with only one rule that banned eating contests, after Clint and Thor had both spent the night after Thai night puking their guts up). Steve suspected that Tony was just as happy about it, based on the tentative interest he showed in helping out, willingly attending and suggesting ideas for recipes. He didn't want to cook, he swore he was terrible at it, but whenever it was Steve's turn to cook he stuck around in the kitchen with him to talk. He passed him utensils and stirred things under Steve's supervision. The team started calling him 'Steve's little assistant,' which Steve thought was kind of adorable. Tony didn't like it as much, but Steve suspected he was playing up his dislike for the term.

It was because of this that he and Steve had started talking more, conversing on more of a personal level rather than just as teammates. It was because of this, also, that Steve couldn't seem to get enough of Tony.

Steve had learned a lot about him once they'd actually started talking. Not because Tony suddenly started spilling all of his deep, dark secrets to him, but because Steve started to notice things about him. He started to see that the sarcasm was a front he used when he didn't want to show emotion, a kind of shield he slipped on when he wanted to pretend he didn't care about something (this was most evident when Dummy did something endearing, and he reacted with sarcasm even though the fondness was practically brimming over in his eyes).

Steve found out that the easygoing charm Tony always seemed to exude wasn't completely real either. Well, of course Tony Stark was charming, but when he wasn't in the public eye, the kind of charm he had shifted into something Steve liked even more. Tony was suave, sleek and fast talking when he was out and about, in the spotlight and being a billionaire, but at home? He padded around the tower in jeans and faded band t-shirts, with tousled hair and sleepy half smiles. The blatant magnetism that he usually showed was smoothed down, faded into something less flashy, and more… Steve hated to admit it, but dorky and adorable were the first words that came to his mind. It was more honest and authentic than what the rest of the world saw.  When he got absorbed in one of his projects, it was with a single minded determination that bordered on completely obsessive. He'd get this intent look on his face, all speculative and concentrated.

Sometimes Steve would ask him what he was doing, and Tony would observe him for a few moments with his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was unsure of something. Then, when he was sure Steve wanted to listen, he would completely light up and babble excitedly, using mostly words that Steve didn't understand in the slightest, but Tony knew that and neither of them cared. He found he just liked hearing Tony's voice, and he was starting to get the feeling that Tony liked having someone to listen to him.  

Okay so, yeah. He might be a little bit infatuated.

Who could blame him? The lethargic smiles he gave Steve when he came down to the shop with a cup of coffee, the way he always seemed to have grease behind one ear ( _always, always_ the right one), the way he always came out of the shop looking rumpled and dead tired and would flop down on the couch and stretch out like a cat; these things were all becoming so irresistible to him that it was practically unbearable.

Now, he spent pretty much all of his free time keeping Tony company in his shop, and he got a full dose of his own mind numbing adoration for him every day.

"Tell me what you're working on?"

Tony glanced at him, and there's that face again, inquisitive and unsure. Steve maintains eye contact, an encouraging smile playing around his lips.

Then he breathed out heavily, turned back to his work and starts babbling at a thousand miles a minute. Steve's smile grew content and a little dreamy, and he leans back to let Tony's voice wash over him.

 

* * *

 

Tony woke up feeling like someone was holding his head underwater, and he was gasping, his hands scrabbling at his throat to release the pressure, to free his lungs from being filled with emptiness.

He sat up straight, a strangled scream in his throat, and suddenly he's back there again. Drowning. Drowning in nothingness. Terrified.

He can still feel the fear prickling under his skin, biting him. He was shaking, his whole body wracked with pain that coursed through him. Aching sobs tore out of his mouth before he could catch them, and the room is filled with the sound of him gasping for breath.

"JARVIS?" he heaved, scratchy and broken, but the ever reliable AI responds, as always.

"How can I be of service to you, Sir?"

"I-I need…" he was cut off by a shudder paired with a sob, and he thrust his face into his hands. His fingers dug into his hair, and he made a sound that was so pitiful and he hated himself for it.

"Forget it JARVIS, never mind," he choked out, frenzied and tiny and so, so alone.

JARVIS didn't answer, and Tony curled up, hands tight clenched around his head as he lost himself in the fear. The nightmares flood over him, and he is completely powerless. He can't do anything but let himself fall into the fear.

He didn't know how long he'd been laying there, tensed and full of fear, when a knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts.

He can't answer. Maybe they'll go away. Maybe they'll leave him in peace and no one will ever have to see him like this; weak and scared out of his mind by nightmares.

"Tony?"

He shouldn't have been surprised to hear Steve's voice through the door, but at the sound he felt himself tense up, stiff as a board.

"JARVIS told me you were upset, and I thought I would come check on you. Are you alright?"

_Please go away._

Of course Steve was here. The good Captain wouldn't ever miss an opportunity to look out for his team, because that's what Steve does. He insists on doing head counts, and its only because of him that any of them ever goes to medical. Tony knew he was only here out of obligation, and he really didn't need that right now.

"Tony?" He could practically hear him frowning, the worry in his voice evident.

_Leave me alone._

"JARVIS told me that you're awake and can hear me right now."

Silence.

"Are you alright? Tony?"

_No, no I'm not but I don't want anyone to see me like this._

"If you don't say something I'm coming in," he alleged in a voice that was hard and concerned.

Tony didn't want him in here, didn't want to want him in here, but when he opened his mouth to say so, no sound came out.

"I'm coming in."

 There was a click, and a sliver of light fell over Tony as the sound of socked feet padded towards him.

He visibly flinched when a warm hand was laid on his shoulder, and turned over with a glare.

"What do you want?" he ground out through clenched teeth. He couldn't stop shaking,  _why_  could he not stop shaking.

Steve was looking down at him with that familiar little frown; pursed lips, that fine line between his brow, worry in his eyes. "JARVIS told me you were… upset. He thought you might need some company."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over. "I'm fine," he spat.

He was so far away from being fine.

"If you want me to leave, I will, but I'd be more than happy to stay with you."

 _Get the hell out,_ Tony tried to say, but it just came out as a strangled, rather pitiful noise. He buried his face in his pillow, his breaths harsh and shallow.

"Do you want me to leave?"

_Yes._

"No." Tony found his voice. It was brittle and small and so scared, but he couldn't stop himself. "Please… stay."

"Of course," Steve said, and for a moment Tony could've sworn that he heard something tender there, but he banished the thought as soon as it came into his mind. Steve was only there because he had to be, but Tony was so miserable he literally could not turn down the company. Just his presence in the room had softened the hard ball of agony in his gut, smoothed down its edges just slightly. Not enough, but it was something.

 He'd expected Steve to just curl up in the chair in the corner, maybe just talk to him aimlessly about nothing to get his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Maybe he would've asked him if he wanted to talk about it.

What he wasn't expecting was for Steve to carefully lift the blankets, slide under the covers and curl the warmth of his body around Tony's back.

Tony made a rather undignified noise, halfway between a squeak and a groan, and stiffened even more. Steve was warm against him, the largeness of his frame curled around him in a way that felt like he was eclipsing his whole body.

"Is this okay?" Steve murmured, his breath hot and gentle against his neck.

Tony shivered. He wanted to tell him to go, to leave him alone, let him ride this out peace.

He shook his head.

_No._

"Yes."

Steve wound one arm around him, pulled him closer against his broad chest, and placed a warm hand against his stomach.

"Breathe deeply," he told him, his voice low and gentle. "Slow."

Tony tried to quell his ragged breathing, tried to slow it down so that his whole body wasn't shaking with every breath. The bulk of Steve's body softened that hard ball even more, the warm feeling of comfort and his kind presence that was not unlike sunlight soothing and calm. Tony wanted to absorb this feeling, this feeling of his best friend holding him and chasing the demons away, or at least keeping them at bay for a while.

He couldn't find it in himself to question how good this felt.

They lay there in silence for a long time, and Tony just soaked up all of his warmth with silent gratitude, as he drifted off to sleep.

 

They don't ever talk about it, but after that night, it becomes a semi-regular thing. Tony wakes up in a cold sweat, his whole body shaking in fear, and a few minutes later, Steve would show up at his door and crawl into bed with him. His heavy warmth at his back always made Tony melt in a way that he'd never admit to in the light of day, but here at night, under the cover of darkness, he'd allow himself to be soothed to sleep in Steve's gentle, strong arms.

When he woke up, Steve was never there. They'd pass each other in the hall, give each other a polite greeting, and then they'd be on their way. They hung out like best friends, but acted normal as much as possible. They were cordial. Friendly. No one would've expected that they spent most nights clinging to each other like their lives depended on it.

No one would've expected that one night Steve had come in to find Tony openly sobbing, and he had just curled around him. He'd wiped the tears away with his thumbs, buried his face in his soft hair and held Tony against his chest. He let him cry into the crook of his neck until he faded into sleep.

No one would've thought, especially not Tony, that one night Steve would come into his room uncalled, hands shaking at the sheer force of one of his own haunting nightmares. He whispered something about ice and drowning and Tony had just wrapped a hand around his wrist and pulled him close, happy to be the comforter for once. Steve had clung and shaken like a leaf in the wind, while Tony ran a comforting hand over his back, whispered comforting words in his ear.

 There was a kind of solidarity there, a comfort they found only in each other, and they didn't feel the need to talk about it once the sun touched the horizon.

That companionship belonged only to them, and they didn't feel the need to share it with the rest waking world.

 

* * *

 

"You could've gotten yourself killed, Tony," Steve hissed, his voice hard and tight.

Tony rolled his eyes and hunched one shoulder. "But I didn't Capsicle, so I don't really understand why you feel the need to be such a freaking mother hen about it."

"You put yourself in danger."

"Um, I hate to actually tell you this Steve, but our jobs are kind of infinitely dangerous, you know? I mean, we fight aliens on a monthly basis. Safety isn't exactly a luxury that we have."

Steve rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. They were still in the debriefing room; Fury and the rest of the team had left only a few moments ago, and as soon as the last of them had left the room and shut the door behind them, Steve hadn't been able to turn to Tony and lay into him with every bit of anger he'd pent up since they finished fighting those damn aliens today. Steve felt like his whole body was ringing with adrenaline along something kind of frantic and sharp, running through his veins furiously. Every time he thought of how Tony had thrust himself into the line of fire without back up, too far away for anyone to assist him in time, that hot acid in his blood spiked and he felt like putting his fist through the wall.

He let out a sigh, told himself to stay calm before speaking again. "You're right Tony. We have dangerous jobs, but that doesn't mean we have to make dumb, spur of the moment decisions that could get us killed."

"That's the thing though, Cap. That dumb decision I made actually saved all of our asses, you're welcome by the way, and wow, would you look at that? I'm alive and well. A bit bruised and feeling a bit dizzy, but I'm alive, and still in one piece so there's nothing to worry about."

"Next time you might not be so lucky," Steve bit out, ignoring the prickling of discomfort at the back of his neck of at the thought of Tony bloodied and broken. The image had been stuck in his head since that initial moment of fear, and he just couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"I'm like a cockroach Steve, it's impossible to get rid of me. I've lost count of how many people have tried to kill me, and look, I'm still here." Tony flashed him that million watt smile and Steve resisted the urge to shout at him when he winced at the motion. He was so riddled with cuts and bruises Steve couldn't even tell which was the one that was hurting him.

He folded his hands on the table and focused his gaze on them, trying to regulate his emotions.

_Breathe._

_Don't think about Tony covered in blood, still and lifeless._

_Don't you dare._

"I hate to break it to you, Tony, but you're not invincible."  

Tony frowned.  "Yeah I know I don't have super powers or anything, Steve, but I'm actually not that breakable."

"I know you're not breakable."

"Don't worry Winghead, I'll stick around for however long you need to keep on saving the world from batshit crazy Asgardian gods. You're not going to lose any of your muscle."

Steve turned a sharp stare at Tony, his eyes narrowed. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on something across the room, his fingers drumming a erratic pattern on the arc reactor casing in his chest. His expression would've seemed neutral, but Steve saw the slight pursing of his lips, the flicker of emotion behind that nonchalant mask.

"Tony, that's not why I'm mad at you."

"Isn't it?" Tony gave him a grin which was probably meant to be that cocky, carefree smirk that was pretty much his trademark, but it came out a bit twisted. Too much like a grimace for Steve's liking.

"No," Steve objected firmly, "I'm not just upset about almost losing another asset to the team."  

"Got a replacement in mind already for when I bite the dust?"

"What? No!" Steve dragged a hand roughly through his hair and sighed. "Tony you're an incredibly valuable member of this team, and you couldn't be replaced if we lost you."

"Well, the suit is incredible, if I do say so myself."

"Tony," Steve snapped sharply, louder than he meant to, and Tony started in surprise. He cast the Captain a wry look and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, oh Captain, my Captain?"

"Your value extends far beyond your suit."

"Of course, I'm a genius Steve, remember? Good luck finding someone capable of building anything even close to the magnificence of my suit, 'cause you're not going to. One of a kind, baby."

With that, something snapped inside of Steve, and he was on his feet. Without telling them where to go, he was striding around the table and his hands clapped down on Tony's shoulders and he was staring into his coffee brown eyes with the kind of icy determination that he used when he went running into battle.

"Listen to me Stark. I'm pissed because my best friend put himself in danger, not because the suit you happened to be inside could've gotten destroyed. I'm mad because my friend and teammate almost got himself  _killed_ today, because he couldn't fucking wait for back up. I'm pissed because you're cocky and overconfident and stubborn, so you make spur of the moment decisions that could get you killed. I'm pissed because  _I can't lose anyone else I care about."_

For a long moment, Tony was silent, staring back at Steve with eyes that were confused and searching.

Confused wasn't exactly an expression Steve was used to seeing on Tony's face.

He let out a noise that was both a sigh and an unamused laugh, and shook his head. "You are worth so much more than your intelligence, Tony. I care about  _you._ " He wished that his voice didn't sound so choked and broken. His fingers were tight on Tony's shoulders, his fingers bunching up the fabric of his under suit. Steve had equal urges to shake him and to examine him for serious injuries. He resisted both.

Tony looked taken aback, his brows drawn together in a strange, twisted expression. That mask was cracking around the edges, letting tiny slivers of emotion shine through, but Steve couldn't read it. He didn't know what that faint grimace on his face meant.

Steve broke eye contact, released his death grip on Tony's shoulders, and made his way back to his chair in silence. He flopped into the chair, boneless, all the fight drained out of him as he sank into the stiff hardness of the plastic beneath him. The adrenaline had faded into something more along the lines of relief and concern all rolled up in this tight ball in his chest.

He couldn't lose Tony too.

It was a long time before Tony finally spoke, his voice careful and slow. "I actually made you swear, Rogers."

Steve let out a gust of breath and shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "Why does everyone get so surprised when I swear? I was in the army for goodness sake."

"I don't know, maybe because the other day you stubbed your toe and muttered 'gosh darn it' under your breath? You swear like an eight year old at the park with his mother."

"We were with Director Fury! It would have been disrespectful."

"Steve that man swears more than a sailor. He actually lives up to that eye patch. You really think he would've cared?"

"I care!"

"Exactly!" Steve threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "This really isn't the problem right now, Tony! Would you please stop making decisions that could get you killed when you could easily call for back up?"

"Fine!" Tony snapped.

Steve sagged in his seat, suddenly feeling very tired. Tony Stark was turning out to be more difficult to deal with than the god from Asgard who kept sending hordes of aliens down to earth.

It was minutes before Tony spoke again.

"Hey." Steve looked up, to see Tony's face had softened slightly, and he was concentrating very hard on a spot on the table, completely avoiding eye contact. "I'm uh… I'm sorry. I guess. I mean I still did save your ass and all of New York, yet again, but I'm-"

"Thank you," Steve cut him off and gave him a small smile. Tony would go on for hours if he let him, and it seemed like apologizing was actually physically painful.

Tony returned the smile with a small shrug. "No problem-o, Cap."


	2. Than You Ever Imagined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear that? That’s the sound of me sobbing hysterically as I click post because this took FOREVER. I think I wrote one line a day. Why it took months to write this, I will never, ever understand. Plus it's about 10 000 words longer than I planned, but I went nuts. It was fun to write!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like it, enjoy!

After Afghanistan, Tony's desire and tendency to indulge himself in the pleasure of alcohol and sex had faded quite significantly, simmered down into something more reasonable. Some days, though, he found himself slipping back into his old ways, and more than once he had resorted to drowning his sorrows in a night of strong liquor and beautiful men and women.

He was in his shop when something hard and cold struck him in the chest, and instead of pausing to examine the feeling that suddenly went singing through his veins, he immediately wanted to forget the feeling. Which was why he found himself stone cold drunk on a Wednesday night, clinging to some girl's arm for support. To be fair, she was a bit drunk too, so she didn't really offer too much support. They just stumbled around aimlessly, voices loud and raw in their throats and vision blurry. 

"You really nee' t'meet Steveeee," he slurred, drawing out the syllables of his name. "He's so sweet an' nice an' he smells real good, an' he's cute but don' tell'im I said that 'cause he's my best friend an' he'll think 'm weird...."

"I think you're pretty cute," the girl - Natalie? Norma? - drawled in his ear, in a slightly less drunk voice than Tony's, but she still had the sharp scent of liquor on her breath, and all of her words sounded too close together, too crowded. 

"Cute?" Tony exclaimed and stopped short, his lips curved in an "o" shape, his brows furrowed in indignation. "I'm not cute, 'm strong and handsome." He flexed clumsily in an attempt to drive this home, gesturing urgently to his bicep. Natalie - he decided her name was Natalie - giggled and hiccupped as she rested a hand on his arm.

"Ohhhh," she breathed, and flashed him an appreciative grin. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "You can still be cute, and strong," she told him, slowly, like she was carefully picking out each word, turning it over and testing it out for the proper desired effect.

Tony deflated slightly, dropped his arm and looked at the ground. "Steve doesn't think 'm cute, Natalie," he murmured mournfully.

She patted his shoulder comfortingly, the palm of her hand warm against his skin. "Have you asked him if he thinks you're cute?" she inquired after a long moment of silence, and Tony immediately perked up.

"I should ask 'im!" he exclaimed, his eyes bright and excited as he fumbled in his pockets for his phone. "I'll ask him, an' it'll all make sense, just like it always does when he talks..." He trailed off as he punched numbers into the phone slowly and deliberately, his brows drawn tightly in concentration. That’s when the girl next to him, with hair dark like chocolate and wide eyes that sparkled when she laughed, looked sharply at him and realized that this ship had already long since sailed.

"Mmmm," she murmured, and if Tony hadn't been drunk, hadn't been so dead set on talking to Steve right that moment, he would've noticed the way that a light came on into her eyes as she watched him. He would've noticed her sigh with sudden realization, the tiny shrug she gave and how she extracted herself from her grip on his arm, and stepped away. "I'm gonna go Tony, okay? It was nice meeting you."

She waved down a taxi as it rolled by and cast one last glance at Tony who was muttering something about not remembering Steve's damn number because the world couldn't stop spinning, and because of that Tony didn't see the way that she shook her head at this man who she had just met, a man who was simultaneously a genius and completely clueless.

"Hey, Tony?" she called, and he looked up with bleary eyes, lips set in a firm line, distraction hovering in his features. She rested one hand on the door of the cab and gave him a half smile that he didn't really see. "My name is Amy," she told him, and she didn't really know why because she knew he wouldn't remember, but for some reason the words fell from her lips and she felt that was the only possible way she could end this strange interaction. She gave him one last wan smile before ducking into the car, slamming the door shut behind her. Her last glimpse of the man who was known for being larger than life was of him huddled into his jacket with his phone pressed to his ear, bottom lip caught between his teeth and unmistakable hope in his eyes.

* * *

 

"Tony," Steve sighed, and pushed the glass back into his hands, "you have to drink water, or you're going to be hung over in the morning."

"I'd rather not," Tony retorted from his perch on the countertop, shoving it decisively back towards the rather amused captain who was watching him with disgruntled exasperation and a rather fond half smile.  

"Sorry," he said with a shrug and handed it to him, stepping back quickly enough that Tony couldn't pass it back to him without dropping it onto the floor. "As much as I don't mind coming to pick you up in the middle of the night, I'm afraid my services come at a price."

Tony's eyebrows shot up and he smirked suggestively over the rim of the glass. "Oh?"

Steve felt a faint flush creeping up his neck, and he tried to disguise it by rolling his eyes and letting out a long sigh. Tony flirted like he breathed, there was no point in taking it seriously. "I meant just drink the water, Tony."

"Fine," he grumbled, but it was without heat and he obliged somewhat willingly.

As Steve observed him, he took a moment to take in the fact that he was standing in the communal kitchen at two in the morning with a rather disgruntled genius billionaire, who was currently sitting on the counter with exceptionally ruffled hair, and this was what felt normal to him. When they'd torn him from the ice, from his life and the only world that he had ever known, he would never have guessed that this is where he would be.

He never would've guessed that this was where he would _want_ to be, with barefoot, ruffled Tony who was still in the process of sobering up. Something about the way his hair was flopping over his forehead and the way his rumpled t shirt was stretched across his shoulders was soothing, almost. He wanted to be here.

He was most of all surprised that he was not at all disappointed about this, that he was content.

"What're you grinning at," Tony demanded, wobbling a bit as he hopped off the counter. Steve instinctively reached out a hand to his arm to steady him, his finger curling around his bicep with him hardly even noticing that he was doing it until he already had done it. His skin was smooth at contact, and Steve felt something like a shiver creeping up his spine, something hot and fierce that he couldn't quite define, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

For a split second, he thought Tony might have been leaning into his touch, but then he was pulling away and Steve realized that it was just wishful thinking. He was already talking, his mouth running faster than Steve's addled brain could keep up with.

He'd said something, a request Steve guessed by the way that he was looking at him expectantly, but he had absolutely no idea what he'd said.

"Pardon?" He shook himself, clearing his throat as he fought that shivering sensation that was still hovering along his spine.

"I want to bake something."

Steve blinked. "Um."

Tony ignored his obvious confusion, and started rummaging in the nearest cupboard, muttering incomprehensibly underneath his breath.

"You want to bake right now?" Steve asked.

"Yup," Tony said distractedly as he stood on his toes to reach up into the third cupboard he'd approached. He made a satisfied little grunt when he saw the cook books up there, and his fingers closed around the nearest one, _Baking Basics_ was emblazoned on the front. He tossed it onto the counter and then he was ducking down to reach into another cupboard for a bowl, which he plopped into Steve's hands. "You're helping me, right? Stop standing there like a confused puppy and start getting the ingredients out, you can't just stand there and watch."

Steve set the bowl down with an amused grin at still semi-drunk, bossy Tony whirling around the kitchen like a sarcastic, rather eccentric Betty Crocker, clattering and knocking things over as he mumbled under his breath. "Sure Tony, I'll help," he conceded. "But could you tell me what we're making first?"

Tony stopped what he was doing, and paused with a contemplative expression on his face. Steve tried in vain to ignore how adorable he thought that was.

"I want a cake," he finally said, slowly, like he wasn't completely sure. Then he gave a firm nod, deciding. "Yes, cake. I want cake. A cake with a ridiculous amount of chocolate and icing."

"Then that's what we'll make," Steve agreed.

Less than twenty minutes later, the two of them sat side by side on the kitchen floor, both covered in flour that hadn't quite managed to make it into the bowl, watching the cake they had haphazardly thrown together bake in the oven. Steve leaned with his back against the cupboard, and Tony was slumped against him, his cheek pressed to his arm.  Every time he breathed out, Steve could feel Tony's warm breath ghosting along the bare skin of his arm. Ever part of him was aching to reach out, wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him close against him, to feel his solidness pressed against him. But Tony was close to him, voluntarily using him as a gigantic pillow, and Steve wasn't about to scare him away by startling him with too much intimacy. He sat still instead, and forced himself to enjoy what he was getting instead of reaching for more.

"Thank you," Tony murmured, and Steve looked down at him to see him blinking up at him sleepily.

"For what?" Steve asked.

"For coming to get me," he responded through a sudden yawn. The faint scent of liquor still clung to his breath, and as he spoke he seemed to sag into Steve more, as if relishing his warmth and the feeling of his body holding him up. Or perhaps, that was just Steve's wishful thinking.

"Of course I came for you," Steve answered, surprised. "You called me."

"Yeah, but." Tony frowned, paused, and flashed Steve a strange expression before continuing. "It was late, and 'm drunk, and you probably didn't want to come out to pick up my dumb ass in the middle of the night, but I didn't wanna call Happy, I wanted it to be you-"

"Hey," Steve interrupted him, fixing him with a stern expression. He hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was trying to tramp down the fluttering in his stomach at the admission that he had been the first person Tony had wanted to call. "If you ever need me, call me. I don't care what time it is, I'll always come for you."

There was a long moment where they just looked at each other, Steve determined and firm, and Tony looking up at him with an expression that could only be identified as sad and a little doubtful. Coming down from the intoxication he'd been at when Steve had found him outside of a club earlier that night, he had fallen into something much softer, more fragile. Steve wanted so badly to wipe that expression away with a touch of his lips, to smooth all of those worries and concerns that he was a burden with a run of his fingers through Tony's dark hair. Steve could guess what he was thinking, what he was doubting, and he wanted to tell him right then and there that it was okay, that there was nothing he would rather be than the person who comes to get Tony Stark in the middle of the night.

"I wanted to ask you something," Tony said slowly, his brow creased in a frown, "but I forget what it was."

"Maybe you'll remember in the morning," Steve suggested, and Tony nodded unhappily. He let out a little sigh as he dropped his head, breaking eye contact, and leaned closer to Steve.

"Maybe," he murmured.

Something broke in Steve then, and against his better judgement, he was suddenly moving the arm that Tony leaned against, earning himself a rather displeased squawk from Tony. Then his arm curled over Tony's shoulder, and Steve could feel the warmth and solidness of his body as he pulled him close. Tony let out a less disgruntled noise then, something low and contented, and Steve felt it right down to his bones as he hugged Tony tighter to his side.

He turned his head slightly, and murmured into his hair, "is this alright?"

Tony nodded his head. "More than alright, fantastic even. If you move now I'm probably going to hiss at you or something."

Steve smiled, and leaned down to press his forehead to Tony's. "As you wish," he breathed. Tony hummed in approval. Steve was caught between something explosive and hot in his belly, desire he might of called it, and this glowing warmth that started in his chest and spread outwards. Sure, he desired Tony, with a fierceness that shot to his loins with fervor, but then there was this. This. _This_ is what he really wanted, Tony pliant and soft against him, wanting him close, searching for comfort and companionship in his embrace. If this was all Steve could ever get, he would have to be content, because this here was the most hidden part of Tony. He was getting Tony honest and soft and  vulnerable, and of all the people in the world, Steve got to see it. He had to cherish and protect it while it lasted, because he suspected Tony didn't trust many with this side of him.

Steve knew that when morning came, when they  were no longer protected by the haze of drunkenness and two am decisions, this would be forgotten. This was different for Tony than it was for Steve. This was friendship to him, and for Steve it was a hard ache in the center of his chest that burned brighter with each heartbeat. Steve knew that, he really did, but he had long since resolved to be whatever he could be for Tony. If it was a friend Tony wanted from him, one who sat with him in the middle of the night and baked cakes with him, then that’s what he would be. He was pretty sure he could be anything for Tony. He need only ask.

"What the hell are you two lovesick teenagers doing on the floor," a voice cut through the silence, and Steve looked up to see Clint looming over them. "And what smells so good."

Steve was blushing because of Clint using the term _lovesick teenagers,_ because come on, he wasn't that obvious was he? He made to move away now that Clint was there and hovering over them, but Tony shot him a disapproving look and grabbed his arm, holding him right where he was. Steve shrugged and settled back against him, squeezing his shoulder a bit, and Tony's face relaxed, before he turned to the third person in the room.

"We made a cake and you're not getting any of it bird brain."

Clint stuck his tongue out just as another voice filled the kitchen.

"And what about me?" Natasha asked as she stepped into the kitchen, flopping down onto the floor opposite of them, not even bothering to comment on their current state; though she did give a tiny flicker of a raised brow in Steve's direction. He responded with a little shrug and a small smile. There was really no point in trying to hide anything from her. She probably didn't even need to see the expression Steve knew he probably had on his face to know how blissfully happy he was to have Tony clinging to him.

"You can have some," Tony conceded, and Clint made a rude grunting noise.

"Why can she have some and I can't?" he retorted.

"'Cause she would kill me," Tony retorted right back at him.

"And what makes you think that I won't?" Clint demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony shrugged. "'Cause Tasha would kill you." He shot Natasha his most dazzling grin, which she responded to with a roll of her eyes, but Steve didn't miss the amused pursing of her lips and the flicker of fondness on her face.

Clint huffed and crossed the room to where Natasha was sitting, and flopped down, laying his head down in her lap. She murmured something in Russian, and shook her head slightly, as if in disapproval or disbelief, but then one hand was gently stroking through his hair.

"Clint can have some," she said decisively, and Tony just grumbled in response instead of objecting, because everyone in the room knew that it was a fact, not a suggestion.

Not long after the cake was finished, pulled out of the oven and sloppily iced by Clint and Thor, who had joined them along with Bruce, the smell of baked goods drawing them out of their rooms. They ate that cake off of fancy plates, which no one knew where they came from, in a haphazard tangle of limbs on the floor. Steve found himself squished between Tony leaning with his back against his chest, and Natasha with her back against his.

He felt the rumble of their laughter against his flesh where they connected with him, and when Tony looked up at him with a grin stretched across his face, and chocolate smudged on his lip, Steve didn't even stop to think before reaching down to wipe it away with his thumb. For a moment he froze, comically frozen in shock at the embarrassingly intimate gesture, but no one else seemed to notice. He felt himself relax just slightly when Tony just rolled his eyes at him and simply rested his head back on Steve's chest, unbothered by the contact. Clint had ended up in Natasha's lap again, while she rested her feet on Bruce's lap. Thor somehow managed to be sprawled out in a way that had him on top of almost all of them, as he merrily devoured more cake than all of them put together, even Steve.

So that's how Steve Rogers, a man who had nothing so recently that he could still feel the cold shadow of loneliness creeping behind him, found himself on the kitchen floor eating cake with his family in the middle of the night. He wasn't even surprised when he realized that this was the happiest he'd been since he'd woken from the ice.

For the first time, he thought that maybe, just maybe, the future wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

 

It took Tony a while to get used to how much time Steve spent in the shop.

Not in a bad way, not at all. It was just strange for a while to glance over his shoulder, almost as if he was looking for him to be there, and he would be. He'd be surprised every time when he looked, and there Steve was, reclined on the couch, nose buried in a book or pencil flying across a page in his sketchbook. Sometimes he'd hear a clatter and turn around to see Steve helping Dummy with something, normally cleaning up a mess he'd made. Steve would pick things up and pass them to Dummy, who would take it from him gingerly, before going to put it in its proper place.

It was a slow, laborious endeavor, and it was the most ridiculous thing Tony had ever seen in his life. However, for some reason, he didn't have it in him to tell Steve that, who treated his faulty AI with such care and attentiveness. Often he wanted to open his mouth to tell him he didn't have to pay attention to the bot, but he would snap his mouth shut before he managed to get the words out, knowing that he would get a sharp look of disapproval from Steve, who would then just keep on playing with him.

So he never said anything, and he eventually got used to it.

The problem was, the more he got used to it, the more he was filled with dread for the time when Steve finally had enough of him and stopped seeking out his company.

"Is this really where you want to be?" he'd asked once, and Steve just looked at him with a strange smile, as if he was keeping a secret that Tony could never guess, and didn't answer.

Tony figured he's a masochist, letting Steve worm his way into his life, know everything about him, comfort him, keep him company. He found himself powerless to stop it though, every time he looked over his shoulder and found Steve there, smile bright as the sun, he felt something deep inside of him that was so happy it almost hurt.

He figured that when he left, he could remember this feeling and it would almost be worth it.

* * *

 

Steve was sitting in his usual spot in the shop, a couch tucked into the corner of the room, his hand swooping broad lines in his sketchbook, when Tony pushed away from his desk and padded over to him.

"What are you drawing?" he asked around a yawn, and flopped down next to him. He looked over at Steve with curiosity, rubbing a grease stained hand through his hair. There was a smudge of something dark across the arch of his cheekbone, and Steve had to restrain himself from reaching over to brush it away with his thumb.

"Um." Steve looked down at the current sketch he was working on, the rough lines that had just appeared under his fingertips, and started to chew at his bottom lip as he assessed the drawing.

It was a scene that had occurred the day before, with him sitting in this exact spot. He'd looked up from a drawing he was doing of the whole team, startled out of the drawing daydream when there was a loud clattering, followed by an indignant screech from Tony. What he saw in front of him when he glanced up had just struck him as absolutely necessary to document for forever.

Dummy was slumped over sheepishly next to a pile of metal parts that had been cast in disarray on the floor; obviously he'd just knocked it over, probably in an attempt Tony with whatever he was doing. Tony was standing in front of him, having vaulted off his chair in his surprise, and he had one hand planted on his hip, the other raised in front of him as he gestured with a filthy rag in his hand. He was clearly annoyed, hence the strand of scolding words that were coming from his lips, but he'd also looked like a fond parent reprimanding a child for spilling something on the kitchen floor.

Steve had just burst into hysterical laughter, at which Tony looked up with a frown, and turned his scolding on him and started wagging the rag at him too, which had just made Steve laugh even harder. He got up to help Dummy, who was now sulking and slowly picking up the objects he'd knocked over. Tony grumbled about how Steve was always on Dummy's side instead of his, and Steve just rolled his eyes and grinned at him. Eventually, still mumbling under his breath, Tony started to help too, eventually petted Dummy begrudgingly in apology. Dummy beeped happily, and immediately perked up, which made Steve start laughing again. 

It wasn't an overtly intimate drawing, just a rough image of Tony scolding him and Dummy with the rag, but _Steve_ knew that it was intimate. He'd thought it was probably simultaneously the most hilarious and adorable thing he'd ever seen, and he'd felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth at the thought of it several times throughout the day a afterwards. He'd committed the scene to memory, and had sat down that evening to immortalize it in graphite. He'd lovingly sketched the contours of Tony's face, tried to capture the laughter and affection that he thought he'd hidden beneath his half hearted irritation.

It _should_ be okay to show him, right?

Tony cleared his throat pointedly, and Steve looked over to see him awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, staring at Steve with an unreadable expression, his body tensed up a bit like it always did when he'd thought he'd done something wrong or crossed some line.

"It's alright if you don't want to show me," Tony told him, "I was just curious, but, if you're secretive about it, or if it's personal, I understand-"

"Tony," Steve cut in, his tone firm and reassuring, and thankfully, Tony's mouth snapped shut. "You can look at it."

"Are you sure?"

Instead of answering him, Steve just handed the sketchbook over. Tony looked at him apprehensively for a few moments, hesitant to take it from him, but Steve just sat there with his arm outstretched, offering it to him willingly. Eventually, Tony tentatively took it from him, and shrugged.

"If you insist, Rogers," he said, and flipped it over to look at the drawing.

One of the things that Steve loved so much about Tony's face, was that once he really started looking at Tony, observing the planes of his face as they melted from one emotion from the next, was once you stripped away the layers of charisma and plastic smiles, he was extremely expressive. Steve had to watch closely, but he'd always catch the flicker around his lips when he was trying not to smile, that way that his eyes danced subtly when he was excited about something, the crease between his brows that carved itself faintly into his skin when he was concerned but didn't want to show it.

So, since Steve was so used to watching Tony's face for these subtle nuances, he saw the exact moment that he registered what the drawing was.

His face softened immediately, his expression going relaxed and happy with surprise, his jaw slackening slightly. A tiny smile, hesitant and sweet, clung to the edges of his mouth, and his brown eyes stared intently at the drawing in his hand.

He ran a finger over the lines that composed Dummy's body, almost reverently, and then he looked up at Steve.

"You were drawing us?" Tony asked, and his voice may have hitched over something gravelly and hoarse, but Steve couldn't be sure.

"Of course," Steve smiled, "why wouldn't I?"

"It's just," Tony started, but then paused, and looked down at the drawing again. He shrugged, and that smile remained on his mouth. Steve wanted to cover it with his own mouth, and see how it tasted.

"It's really good," Tony said quietly, and stared at it for a few more moments, before handing it back to Steve. "Really good."

"Thank you, Tony."

Tony nodded, and stood, crossing the room to go back to whatever he was working on, and Steve returned to his sketch.

* * *

 

Later that day, after Steve had yawned and sleepily told Tony goodnight, before heading upstairs to bed, Tony found an plain envelope with his name written neatly in swooping letters emblazoned on the front.

When he opened it and unfolded the single piece of paper inside, he found the finished drawing Steve had shown him earlier, and his whole body went stiff in surprise.

In the corner, Steve had written a simple inscription;

- _Because Dummy is your favourite, and you are mine._

_S R_

Tony kept that drawing safe for the rest of his life.

* * *

 

Falling in love, at least for Tony, was a far less tumultuous affair than he would've imagined.

It just kind of snuck up on him, creeping up behind him like some kind of soft glow, a flicker of heat that grew stronger with every breath. Much like fire, love is, and like a flame, it needs oxygen. It needs every cut off breath, every faltered exhale. And oh, how Tony gave life to that flame, fanning it to life, fuelling it without even noticing it, and giving it breath when it begged and gasped for more.

By the time he realized he was - _is_ \- in love with Steve Rogers, it's far too late for him to even think about doing anything about it.

He just looks over at Steve one day; it's four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun coming in through the window with a soft smoulder, and the room is quiet except for the soft murmur of tired voices, and the TV playing _Friends_ in the background as the team lies lazily around the living room like a bunch of overfed, lazy cats. All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day.

But then Tony looks at Steve, really _looks_ at him, the way he's sitting with his mouth half open in a laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes, how the sun dances off of every strand of his gold spun hair, and he just thinks to himself; _oh yeah, I really fucking love you._

He paused then, a frown appearing between his brows as he realizes what he just so nonchalantly thought to himself. A thought he'd been dancing around for a while now, something he'd pushed to the back of his mind whenever it tried to show itself.

But the thing is, he does. This wasn't a realization, this wasn't a moment of fireworks bursting in the air over him, or a horde of butterflies in his gut. It was a slow, careful awareness, a warm hug from behind that held him close and kept him calm.

It was just kind of _there._ Now that he was consciously thinking about it, he couldn't remember when he didn't love Steve. It was always there, in the way Steve pursed his lips to hold back a smile when Tony told an inappropriate joke, the way he laughed with his eyes. It was there when Tony would glance over his shoulder and Steve would be there, the only constant in his life. It was there in the sinking of his gut when he looked behind him, and Steve wasn't there. It was there with a longing so strong it ached, but as it is with pain, after so long it becomes so natural and you become numb to it. Tony was numb of the pain of loving someone who could never love him back.

It almost surprises him how he just accepts it. He looks at him, knows he loves him, and that's it.

Steve looked over then, lips parted to say something to him. He pauses, confusion crossing his face. Tony realizes that he's giving Steve a forlorn look, a sad smile that doesn't touch his eyes.

"Tony?" he asks, a touch of concern in his voice.

Tony almost wants to laugh, because of course he's concerned. Of course wonder boy is sweet and kind, and so stubborn and brave. Of course he treats Tony like he's worth something, like he's not broken and lost all the time.

Of course he is, because Steve is everything good that Tony will never deserve.

"Nothing," he said, brushing it off with his charismatic _Tony Sark_ smile, the one that feels plastic and brittle on his lips. "Nothing, Steve, just watch your damn show."

It came out a little more fond than he intended, and he kind of wanted to kick himself for it.

Steve looks at him for a moment longer, assessing him with probing eyes. He clearly didn't believe Tony, but something in Tony's face must have told him that it would be better not to ask, because a moment later he's turning back to the TV reluctantly, so slow that it almost seems like he has to force himself to not demand to know what's wrong. No doubt because he wanted to fix it.

Yes, Tony was in love with Steve, and no, it didn’t look like that was going to change. 

* * *

 

Tony woke up one night when darkness still hung in the air like a heavy blanket, with a warm arm slung around his waist, light breathing ghosting across his neck from the warm body pressed against the length of his back. He was still groggy as he blinked himself into a state of semi alertness, squirming a bit to adjust himself more comfortably against the supersoldier slash space heater who was currently plastered against his back. He didn't even really remember when he'd come in, but considering Steve slept curled up against his back most nights now, it wasn't so much unwelcome or surprising to wake up to him being there.

Steve stirred at Tony's squirming, and made a sleepy noise deep in his throat.

"Tony? You awake?" Steve's voice was raspy and sleep ridden in his ear, hardly even there in the silence of the room.

"Mmmph," Tony responded eloquently, not even bothering to form a coherent sentence through the haze of drowsiness hovering over him.

For a long moment, there was complete silence, Steve not saying anything more, just letting out light breaths against Tony's skin. As the time stretched on longer and Tony still hadn't drifted back to sleep, he wondered if Steve had fallen back asleep.

"Steve?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Steve answered. "Sorry, you can go back to sleep."

Tony frowned when he heard the unmistakable crack in Steve's low voice, the way it dipped towards something that was so evidently not okay.

He pried his eyes open and carefully turned in the circle of Steve arms, not missing the way that Steve's breath caught in his throat, the way he swallowed and his throat clicked quietly at the action. As Tony moved so that he was facing him, Steve's face was lit only by the faint glow of Tony's arc reactor, shining softly with a dim blue light that glanced off of Steve's pinched features.

Tony frowned harder and reached out to poke his chest gently. "You okay, Cap?"

Steve shook his head and gave him what Tony could only recognize as a forced, fake smile. Tony knew what his real smile looked like; bright and relaxed, like his expression was just melting into a state of contentment. He had spent so many times noticing Steve's smile and the way that it made his already damaged heart stutter where it rested in his chest, that it was more than easy to tell when it wasn't real.

Since he'd become so embarrassingly infatuated with pretty much everything that Steve did, even when he drove him mad with his self righteous superiority, he'd become acquainted with the many expressions of the Captain. There was the stoic, authoritative face that he wore triumphantly in the field, leading his team of superhero miscreants on yet another quest to save New York, or the world. There was the face he made when Tony was doing something unbelievably annoying, but he couldn't help but be amused; his lips were what would give him away in that case, curving down at the edges in a way that was so unnatural that the smile he was holding was practically palpable. There were the faces that Tony hated, like the face where Steve would give this tiny, sad smile that told everyone around him that he was completely broken inside, and they one where he would look at Tony with disappointment in his eyes, heavy and sad as his eyes burned into Tony until he just had to escape.

But Steve's real smile, the one that Tony was realizing that he lived for, was when he just looked content. Not laughing, just looking at Tony with the softest expression on his face, the slight upwards curve written on the corners of his lips, the faint laugh lines that would appear between his brows. That was Steve's real smile, and whatever twisted imitation he was giving Tony right now was so far away from it that it hurt.

Of course, in a completely Steve-like fashion, he just shook his head and that dreadful expression deepened. "Yeah, I'm fine Tony. I'm sorry if I woke you."

Tony bit back a yawn and shook his head. "No, you didn't, and even if you did it wouldn't matter, I hardly sleep anyways. You should know that by now."

Steve gave him a little frown, and Tony felt his arms briefly tighten around him. "You really shouldn't do that, you know. Sleep is kind of necessary to live."

He shrugged, then fixed Steve with a disapproving stare. Steve's face was illuminated by the faint arc reactor light, his eyes like dazzling pieces of ocean swept skyline after a storm that stared back at him with so much directness, Tony had to fight to not falter. There would be time to obsess over Steve's perfection once Steve had that stupid sadness wiped off of his face. "Don't try to change the subject Mr. Subtle. You alright?"

Steve stiffened and gave a sharp nod. "Yes, Tony. I'm fine."

"Liar."

Steve narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," Tony answered. "You're lying. I can practically feel the angst coming off of you in waves."

"There is no… angst," Steve murmured slowly, his face unreadable now. "Everything's fine Tony."

Tony grunted and gave him a disbelieving look. "Look, Steve? I get the whole 'holding in all of your emotions because you're sure no one wants to listen to you' shtick, trust me. If anyone knows about that, it's me. But uh…"

He paused then for a moment, trying to figure out how exactly he should go about wording this without sounding like a _complete_ idiot, all the while Steve gazed at him expectantly, yet patient.

"You can talk to me, you know," he said finally, "I mean, I know that sounds cliché as hell and whatever, but you can. Or you know, you don't have to. But you don’t have to pretend to be okay. You're pretty bad at it anyways, to be honest, you're not very good at hiding your emotions, your face gets all sad and you have those puppy dog eyes. So, you know. I'm not going to think less of you for it."

There was a long pause where Steve just looked at him, silent through the way his lips were pressed together, his eyes assessing Tony carefully.

"It's just hard to sleep sometimes," he admitted.

He didn't elaborate right away, and Tony didn't interrupt. He figured that as long as he waited patiently for him to continue, he might actually feel inclined to do so. Tony wasn't exactly known for his patience, he was always the one to thrust himself headfirst without any hesitation into anything and everything, but he could be patient for Steve. Hell, he was pretty sure he could be anything for Steve.

Just as he'd thought, after a long minute of Tony waiting patiently for Steve to continue, he finally did.

He sighed and suddenly felt the absence of one of Steve's warm hands as he lifted it to scrape through his short blond locks.

"There's just too much in there sometimes, you know? My head is just so full."

"Full," Tony repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"So full of what?" Tony asked, making sure to keep his voice soft and undemanding.

He hesitated, carefully choosing his response. Tony waited.

"Of them," he whispered, and Tony would have to be an idiot to hear how broken it sounded. "I… Gosh, Tony. I miss them so much it hurts. Right here." Steve pressed his hand into the middle of his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt, tense over his beating heart. "Sometimes it's fine, sometimes they're just in the back of my mind, always there, and it's okay. I never want to forget about them. But then sometimes I'll see something that reminds me of Bucky, or I'll see a pretty dame walking down the street and for a split second I think it's Peggy, and I just. I can't. It breaks me every time, and eventually, I think I'll break for real and nothing will be able to put me back together again."

Tony hated the way Steve's voice sounded then, all hard and crackly. It was if he wasn't sure he wanted to cry or punch a wall.

Well, it was probably both.

"It's like someone cut off my arm, or my leg, and I can still feel it there, or I think I can. Then, I'll reach out to touch it, and it's not there. I'll do things sometimes and I'll think _'wow, Bucky would think that was hilarious, I have to remember to tell him,'_ or ' _I wonder what kind of flowers Peggy likes, I'll have to ask her._ It's like for a moment, I forget… and then I remember, and it's like my chest is caving in. I forget that they're gone, and then I remember, and the world ends all over again."

He stopped talking, and his bottom lip ended up caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed and his eyes hard and sad. He let out a sharp, bitter laugh and shook his head.

"Everyone always tells me how lucky I am to be alive, to have a second chance at having a life. As if that makes it _easier._ Yeah, I'm alive. But sometimes it feels like I died anyways. I had a whole life, and its gone now. I'm alone. Everyone I knew is dead now. Maybe I am too."

"Hey," Tony said, his voice firm and resolute as he reached out with one hand to touch Steve's chest. Steve still had his hand there, absentmindedly lingering on his broad chest, covering the spot where his heart beat within him. At the first brush of Tony's fingertips, Steve visibly flinched, and Tony immediately stopped, giving Steve the time he needed if he wanted to push him away. Then, the arm he still had looped around Tony tightened for a moment, as if in a wordless offering in permission, and so Tony continued.

Tony pressed his own palm to the back of Steve's hand, feeling the warmth of the other man's skin seeping into his flesh, right down to his bones. He splayed his fingers, imprinting each fingertip onto the flesh of Steve's hand, all the while staring at the contrast of their skin in the arc reactor's light.

He couldn't help but think that even though most days he despised the arc reactor, he didn't mind it so much when it was glowing against Steve's skin.

For a while, there was just the sound of their breathing as they held their hands over Steve's heart, connected by flesh on flesh as his heartbeat stuttered beneath their fingertips.

Tony knew that Steve didn't want him to talk right now; he didn't need it. Meaningless platitudes that were in no way  true would not help him right now, saying _it's okay_ would not make it okay, and _I'm sorry_ meant nothing because of course he was sorry. Steve knew that. Hearing it out loud right now would just be dry and useless. Steve had lost everything he had ever known, and he just had to move on in a future he didn't belong in, plagued with memories of a past life filled with the shadows of everyone he loved. Tony couldn't fathom how that would feel. No one could.

This was one of those times when Tony couldn't distract with a meaningless stream of words filled with nothing, and just had to wait it out while Steve got his bearings. He couldn't talk, and he was okay with that.

There had been many times when he'd desperately needed silence as well. So Tony would give him that, he would be patient and silent, offering to him the only kind of comfort he could, the only kind that would matter.

It was a while before either of them moved, and just like Tony had intended, it was Steve who did first, when he was ready. It was with flashing eyes and his bottom lip clutched between his teeth that slowly, Steve turned his hand, and began tangling his fingers with Tony's. Naturally, their palms fit together, their fingers twined with each other's so perfectly.

Steve let out a shaky sound that was half a broken laugh, and half a sigh. "Thank you," he murmured, and Tony just shrugged.

"I didn't do anything."

"That’s where you're wrong," Steve told him, "you always do."

"I'm just laying here Steve," Tony said woodenly, because he wasn't doing anything extraordinary, he was just not being as much of an asshole as he usually was. He hardly thought that required positive recognition. 

"That's more than enough, Tony. Don't underestimate the importance of just having someone there to listen to you."

"Well." Tony said, and didn't elaborate. Which was fine, because a moment later Steve was cutting in, continuing.

"I think I know your secret, Tony."

Tony raised his eyebrows in a question, and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah? And what might that be?"

Steve scooted closer to him then, eyes still boring into his own, unblinking and steady. Just a little more and they would have been nose to nose.

"Not many people may know this, because you try so hard not to let them know it," he whispered, "but it turns out, Tony Stark does have a heart."

"Steve-"

"No, let me talk. Please?"

"Fine. Go on, Cap. I love when you use the commanding voice with me. It's kinda kinky." Tony added a devilish wink at the end, and as per usual, Tony was rewarded with a faint blush across his cheeks and an eye roll.

"If I was planning on being kinky, it would be a lot more obvious than that," Steve shot back, and Tony almost choked on his tongue.

"What?" he squeaked, because he really wasn't used to Steve getting him back when it came to the shameless flirting.

"You heard me," Steve said with another roll of his eyes. "Now hush, I know you're trying to distract me, and it's not working."

Tony waved him off with his free hand, still feeling a little unsteady from Steve's comment, even though he was laying down.

Not to mention he had to remember that this was _definitely not the time to get aroused._

 "Yeah, go on," he said, and yes, his voice sounded completely normal, thank you very much.

Steve fixed them with those blue eyes, and then started speaking, his voice quiet and soft.

"You think you care too much, that you love too hard. And you're scared that you'll suffocate people. That they'll leave you because you're too much. So you pretend to not care, and hope no one sees."

Was Tony breathing? He wasn't sure, because he couldn't hear anything but Steve's low and gentle voice over the pounding of his heart. He was trying so hard not to let it show on his face, and he wondered for a moment if Steve's super hearing allowed him to hear people's heartbeats; in which case, he was screwed.

He opened his mouth to do exactly what Steve just said he did, to gloss over the statement like it was nothing, but Steve was shaking his head.

"I see you, Tony," he whispered. "And I'm not leaving."

That was it. Something in Tony snapped, and his breath tore from his lips in one long gust.

"I think I'm going to kiss you," Tony breathed, the words slipping out from between his lips before he could stop them. He was so close to Steve now, so close that he could see every individual eyelash as he blinked and they brushed against his skin, so close that he could see the tiny freckle that was painted onto the crest of his right cheekbone. Lips just right there, pale pink and a bit chapped, and in that moment there was absolutely nothing in the entire world that Tony wanted to do more than kiss those lips.

"Then do it," Steve whispered back, a challenge mingling in his voice with unmistakable want.

Tony's lips were covering Steve's a moment later, and upon collision Steve made a low sound, a soft murmur that brushed faintly against his skin. At the first tentative brush of their lips, Tony felt a jolt run up his spine, and then he was melting, his arms coming up to wrap around Steve. One hand pressed against the curve of his spine, and the other hand cupped the back of his neck, fingers reaching up to tangle gently with the hair at the base of his skull. Steve was firm and warm under his hands, against his lips as he pressed that kiss to his lips, letting himself imprint that moment of tenderness in his memory forever.

It was undemanding, the kiss was, nothing urgent and rushed about it, just the soft press of lips and the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other. It was more tame and subdued than Tony was used to, but better than any other kiss he'd had before that moment. If he hadn't been so completely, blissfully lost in the feeling of being so close to Steve, he might have been embarrassed at the way that he was practically melting into his arms and clinging to him. As it was, he couldn't bring himself to care.

They parted after what simultaneously felt like an eternity and far too short. Tony drew away as Steve leaned back a bit to look at him, his eyes warm and assessing him carefully, his skin tinted faintly in the darkness of the room by the light emanating from his chest. Every breath rattled through him like a wave, despite the tameness and gentleness of the kiss. He wasn't winded, per se, he just felt that he wasn't quite sure he remembered how to breathe.

"Yeah?" Steve asked quietly, his eyes searching Tony's. So much meaning hung in that single word, in the softness of his voice and the tentative lilt at the tail end of the word that turned it in to a hopeful question. He chewed on his lip as he waited for Tony to answer, his expression apprehensive and falsely passive. He really wasn't good at faking.

"Yeah," Tony answered, refusing to care about the way his voice may have broken a bit, because he was safe in Steve's arms right then, feeling like he was being looked at as though he was the center of the universe. Tony was used to being the center of the universe, yes, but not as himself. The legend Tony Stark was used to that, the one who forced charming, fast spoken lines through teeth clenched in a smile so wide and dazzling and _fake_ that it made his cheeks hurt. Tony Stark was the one who was used to being looked at as a national icon, a leader, a man born of legacy.

But Tony, just Tony, wasn't used to being looked at like that for just being himself. Steve wasn't looking at Tony Stark with those eyes, he was looking at _him._ That was the best feeling in the world to Tony, so he supposed he would be forgiven for losing himself a little bit. He could allow himself this moment of weakness, just this once.

So he let Steve lean back in, and he let himself melt into him as their lips met, as their breath mingled, and hands clutched each other close.

He could let himself have this, because for the moment, Tony believed Steve wanted him and that was all that mattered.

It didn't take long for Steve to hook an arm around his waist and to pull Tony impossibly close, simultaneously rolling him so that he was sprawled against his broad chest with Steve flat on his back. With a sound on his lips that could mean nothing but pure _want,_ Tony went willingly.

Tony had never been one to romanticise sex. It was enjoyable, he liked having it, and he had done so with many people. It was casual most times, and while he could see why people felt sex so intimately, but he never, ever imagined himself wanting someone so much to want to call sex with someone 'making love.'

Sex with Steve, his golden Captain, his kind hearted hero, changed everything.

Steve was just so attentive, in the way that whenever he wasn't kissing Tony, or sucking dark marks into his flesh, he was looking at him. His face was focused on Tony, and Tony only, his eyes shadowed with want and warmth that Tony felt right down to his bones. He stared right at him, and Tony was unable to break the gaze, unable to stop looking at him with the same kind of unadulterated lust and affection.   

Even when clothing slipped from their shoulders and fell into a pool on the floor, even as hands met flesh uninterrupted, as sparks flew and breath became heavy, Tony never felt as completely bared to the world as he did when Steve looked at him like that.

It wasn't even that the sex was perfect; there were moments when it was sloppy, and at one point Tony bumped his head on the headboard which sent them both into a fit of giggles. Steve was inexperienced, enthusiastic and careful, but inexperienced nonetheless. It wasn't perfect.

It was the best Tony had ever had.

What Steve lacked in experience, he made up for in the way he ran his hands slowly all over Tony's bare flesh, paying attention to every part of him. He was heedful of every one of Tony's reactions; his moans, the way he shivered beneath his hands. He made up for it in his confidence, like the way that when he pushed slicked fingers into him, and Tony groaned as he dug his nails into Steve's back, he'd looked up at him with a lewd grin that Tony adored. Steve had surged up then to capture his lips in a deep kiss, and Tony reciprocated enthusiastically, writhing and panting into Steve's mouth as he carefully moved his fingers in him, stretching and opening him. 

It was with Tony on his back, sprawled out across the bed, that Steve finally hooked his arms under his knees, prompting Tony to wrap his legs around his waist, and slid inside. Tony arched up into his touch, babbling incoherent words of encouragement around litanies and Steve's name. Steve rocked into him slowly at first, giving Tony time to adjust, but then Tony urged him for more, and Steve happily obliged. He proceeded to take Tony apart, pliant and trembling in his hands, in the most perfect way possible.

They found their rhythm just fine, with Steve hovering over him, his lips alternating between kissing his lips, tangling his tongue with Tony's, and nipping lightly at the sensitive flesh just at the crease of his neck. They moved awkwardly at some moments, but it only took an adjustment, a breathy, comfortable laugh, and then they were moving again, lost in a haze of desire. Lost in each other.

When Steve came, trembling and buried deep inside him, it was with Tony's name a puff of breath on his tongue.

Tony thought that it was the sweetest sound that he had ever heard.  

* * *

 

When Steve woke up, he was alone and it felt like he was missing a limb.

It took him a few minutes to stretch himself out, his joints creaking with morning stiffness, and shake his head clear of sleep. The morning light was falling through the window, illuminating the room in a faint glow, and Steve was wrapped loosely in a sea of blanket that were warm and smooth against his body.

He would've been immensely comfortable, except for the fact that he was alone.

Yawning, he sat up, and rubbed at his face sleepily, and a bit confused. He was alone, in Tony's bed, which didn't happen. He was always up first, woke up to Tony's face relaxed and peaceful on the pillow next to him. He'd stop himself from kissing his forehead like he wanted to, and instead would hop out of bed, carefully as to not wake him, and would go downstairs to make breakfast. That was always how it worked, so why was today any different?

That was when last night came back to Steve in a rush, memories of Tony's lips and hands, of sliding inside of him slick and warm, of holding him tightly against him afterwards, their breathing growing slow and languid as they drifted off to sleep. Steve remembered vaguely pushing Tony's hair back and dropping a tender kiss on his forehead, which earned him a sleepy grin and a noise of approval, before slipping into sleep.

Right. So that was what was different.

"JARVIS?" he said, feeling a burn spreading to his ears at the memory. "When did Tony leave?"

"Good morning, Captain. Sir left around one hour ago, at 6:08 am."

"So early," Steve mumbled, yawned again, and pushed a hand through his hair. "Is he down in the shop."

"Affirmative."

Of course he was. Steve scooted over to the edge of the bed, reached down to grab the sweatshirt he'd discarded there last night, and pulled it over his head. "Thanks JARVIS."

"You are most welcome, Captain."

* * *

 

He padded into Tony's shop in socked feet, carrying a mug of coffee for the resident engineer, to find Tony already hard at work.

Tony didn't look up when he came in, just stayed hunched over his keyboard where he was tapping away, something complicated and dense with numbers on the screen, that Steve was about two PhDs shy of  understanding. Even though Tony didn't look up, Steve could see the exact moment he became aware of his presence, because his fingers stuttered for a moment on the keyboard.

Steve stopped behind him, leaned over to set the cup of coffee in front of him, brushing his fingers across the skin of his wrist briefly, and planted a kiss to the top of Tony's bed head. "Morning, gorgeous."

"Morning. Thanks." Tony's voice was flat, and Steve didn’t miss the way he tensed up when Steve touched him.

Steve backed up a pace, feeling Tony's desire to not be touched practically radiating off of him, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Cap," Tony responded, but his voice was just as tight, and altogether completely unconvincing.

Steve was silent for a moment, making sure he carefully approached the subject without making anything worse, and then said, "I don't want to push, but-"

"Then don't," Tony cut him off, his voice just a fraction away from snapping at Steve.

Steve flinched internally at the brittle edge in Tony's voice, but fought hard not to let it show in his voice.

"About last night-"

"Don't," Tony cut him off shortly.

"Am I going to be able to finish a sentence?"

"Not if you're going to start talking about last night."

Steve grit his teeth. "And why is that?"

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Tony said simply.

"I think you're wrong," Steve disagreed, and Tony snorted.

"We fucked, Steve. End of story. That's all it was, end of discussion."

Steve knew what Tony was doing, but still. Ow. That struck him like a punch to the gut.

"That's not all it was," Steve said softly, and he hated how he couldn't help how pained his voice was.

 "See, that's where you're wrong, Cap."

"I'm not wrong," Steve told him, his voice set and determined.

Tony didn't answer, he just folded his hands carefully on his desk, and stared at them. From behind him, Steve could see the sharpness in his shoulders, and wished desperately to smooth the jagged edges of his shoulder blades with gentle hands, but he knew that would make it worse, so he stayed put.

"I know what you're doing," he said instead, and Tony visibly flinched.  

"And what exactly do you think that is, Rogers?"

"You're pushing me away, because you think it'll be easier than waiting for me to walk away."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it?" Steve asked sadly, and he ached so bad to touch Tony he could feel it in a sharpness in his chest. "I don't think so."

"You're wrong."

"I don't think I am. Do you remember what I told you last night?"

Tony remained silent, so Steve plowed on. "I told you I'm not going anywhere."

"Great, we'll be friends then," Tony ground out, and the way he said it, it didn't sound like an overly welcoming invitation.

"That's not what I want, Tony, and I think you know that."

"I don't."

"Then let me tell you," Steve said quietly. Tony didn't object. "I want to be with you. Not as a friend. As someone I love and cherish and fall asleep next to every night."

"You're a fool if that's what you want."

"Maybe," Steve admitted. "Maybe not. But either way, the heart wants what it wants."

There was a beat, and then Tony spoke, his voice still holding on to that hard edge. "What makes you think that I want that?"

"I don't know if you want it," Steve told him honestly, "but I was there last night. I get the feeling that maybe there's a chance that you do."

Steve took a deep breath before continuing with, "I want this, Tony."

Soft, and horribly broken, Tony said, "no, you don't."

"I really do."

Steve really wished that Tony would just _turn around._ He needed to see his face so badly, but he just had to wait for Tony to turn to him in his own time.

Still facing away from him, Tony bolted out of his chair and stalked across the room, standing stiff and stoic, as Dummy rolled up to him with an inquisitive beep. Steve watched as Tony rested a hand absentmindedly on one of Dummy's joints, and a thought flashed through his mind, he wondered if Tony had kept the drawing.

Tony's back was still to him, but he could still see the strain in his shoulders, and his hands were clutched in tight fists at his side.

"I'll wreck everything."

"You won't," Steve answered, his voice firm. "I promise."

"I'm a pain in the ass."

Steve let out a dry chuckle; like he hadn't known that already. "I know. I like it."

"You like it?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders up in a gesture Tony didn’t see. "Keeps things interesting. Plus, it's kind of endearing most of the time."

There was a long pause, the silence strung through the air with so much meaning, so much anticipation. Steve was holding himself still, wishing that he could rush forward and turn Tony around to look at him. He wanted to see his face, he wanted to hold him, he wanted to feel the warmth of his body against him.

But that would end up doing more harm than good, so he stayed still.

When Tony finally spoke, it was with a breathy exhalation, and his voice broke in the middle of his sentence, and Steve's heart broke a little bit with it.

"I'm not worth the trouble."

Steve wanted to go find everyone who had ever made Tony feel that way, that he wasn’t worth the trouble of caring about, wasn't worth loving and appreciating.

Of course, that wasn't an option, so he just spoke with his voice low and full of conviction, infusing every word with his love for Tony, and hoped that Tony was willing to hear it.

"You're worth _everything_ to me."

Tony let out a shuddering breath at that and unclenched his fists so he could drop his face into his hands.

Steve just couldn't stay still anymore.

He crossed the room slowly, careful to keep in mind that Tony could very well bolt out the door and leave him there at any moment. He didn't want that. He needed Tony to know how real this was.

Steve was beside Tony, who still had his face buried in his hands, his head bent down and his body curving in on itself as if he was in pain. Dummy was bumping against him as he whirred in concern, and Steve just patted him a few times to reassure him, hoping he understood that Steve was going to take care of it. Dummy seemed to get it, and he stopped tapping on Tony's arm, but stayed firmly put beside him.

"Tony?" Steve posed his name as a gentle question, but Tony didn't respond in any way. But, he also didn't back away from Steve's voice or his proximity, so Steve decided to take a chance.

He raised his hand to Tony's wrist, his fingertips soft and hesitant as they met his skin, and he paused there, giving Tony a moment to push him away if that's what he wanted. When he didn't, Steve curled his fingers around him, and brought the other hand up to do the same to the other wrist. Tenderly, more as a suggestion than forcing him, he started to draw Tony's hands away from his face.

Thankfully, Tony let him.

He only got a brief glance at  Tony's face, which was strained with lines of uncertainty, before he was pulling him into his arms, holding him tightly against him. He felt Tony stiffen for a moment, and he readied himself to let go, but then Tony relaxed and rested his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve felt a rush of relief crash over him, and he wrapped both arms tighter around his waist, resting his hand firmly at the small of his back.

It only took a few moments, for Tony to raise his hands to clutch at Steve in return, his fingers braced against the broadness of his back. He leaned into Steve with a little sigh, and buried his face into the crook of Steve's neck.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Steve," Tony said, and Steve was so happy he could've lifted Tony up and spun him right there, because his voice had softened from the harshness that had been there just moments before.

"Not sure that I do," Steve laughed, his voice muffled as he pressed his face to Tony's hair. "But I'm sure that I'll figure it out."

Tony made one of his grumpy noises, but he was still in Steve's arms, so he knew that it was all for show at this point. Especially considering the way that he was nuzzling into his neck.

"I'm going to drive you insane."

"I'd be concerned if you didn't," Steve responded, "it's part of your charm."

Tony breathed out a sound that was almost a laugh, and shook his head slightly. "You want this?"

"I want you."

Tony pulled back to look him in the face, his eyes searching Steve's. The raw brokenness was gone, but it had been replaced with uncertainty that Steve wanted to get rid of immediately.

"I love you," Tony whispered, and Steve's eyes widened. "I love you, and I'm going to drive you away."

"Never," Steve breathed, and leaned in until his forehead was resting against Tony's. "Never, because I love you too."

Tony was still looking at him with apprehension, there was still a tentativeness there that Steve didn't like at all, but Steve figured he had time to make Tony be rid of it. He'd spend his whole life trying if that's what it took.

It wouldn't be a hardship, he thought, as Tony swayed forward to brush their lips together. No, spending his life with Tony wouldn't be a hardship at all, and he'd gladly do so if Tony let him.

When they broke apart, Tony was grinning, and Steve loved that smile so much he was bursting with it.

Before he leaned in again to taste Tony's lips again, he breathed words across Tony's mouth that he knew that Tony needed to hear, and believe.

"I'm not going anywhere."

And he meant it.

He always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ! <3


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